


An Even Wilder Justice

by Airelle



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 02:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2755565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airelle/pseuds/Airelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Very bleak story - read at your own peril.<br/>Written on October 7, 2014</p><p>I would like to thank Ravenstone for her fantastic beta-reading. My story is much better because of her. All remaining mistakes are mine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Even Wilder Justice

“Wh… what do you want?” the man stuttered, panic written large on his homely face.  
“To kill you, of course,” the tall, dark-haired man answered. “To kill you for what you did, but first to make you suffer.”  
“Are you crazy? I haven’t done anything! Yes, you must be crazy! Oh God! I’m in the hands of a madman! Please, please let me go; I haven’t done anything wrong, please!”  
“You haven’t? Are you sure? What about the bloke you ran over a fortnight ago?”  
The middle-aged, balding man paused. His captor had tied him up in a derelict warehouse after snatching him on his way home from his daily visit to the pub nearest his flat. He’d been inebriated, pleasantly so, and looking forward to a bit of television then a relatively early night.  
“Oh. That bloke? It… it was an accident! The police said so - the witnesses said so. I lost control of my car and… I’m sorry, really sorry! They kept me two days in custody, you know, but they released me. An accident! It was an accident!”  
“But you were drunk, weren’t you?” He did not answer, which got him a solid shaking from this stranger with the burning blue eyes. “Weren’t you? Answer me!”  
“I… yes, a bit, not much. I just wanted to go see some friends on the other side of London, so I took my car… Maybe I shouldn’t have …”  
“Too right, you shouldn’t have. That mistake is going to cost you your life. Just like it did my mate.”  
“You mean… he died? I…”  
“You didn’t even try to discover if he’d survived? You never asked? Didn’t ring the hospital? Oh, but why would you have bothered? After all - it was an accident.”  
He cowered under his captor’s scornful gaze but said nothing as the man continued.  
“An accident. Yes. Driving while drunk, going way too fast, losing control of your car and ploughing straight onto the pavement, where my mate was peacefully walking home after shopping. In a way, you were lucky: you only struck one person. You could have mowed down several other people. Or, those other people who escaped were lucky. You, it seems, won’t be lucky for much longer.”  
“Your mate, you said he died? I’m… so sorry!”  
“He died, yes. After fighting for ten days, in horrible pain. In the end, he had to let go. He couldn’t struggle any longer. If anyone could have done it, it was him. He was a survivor, was Ray… But you… you didn’t give him any chance at all. He was too broken. Just like you’re going to be before you die.”  
“Please, I don’t want to die! No one kills somebody over an accident!”  
“Not an accident. Murder. And in my book, murder gets the death penalty.”  
Bodie took his gun from his shoulder holster and aimed it at the man tied to the rickety chair in front of him.  
“You’ll scream, but this district is completely deserted. No one will hear you.”  
“Who are you? Why do you have a gun? What…”  
“So many questions. You’d have been better advised to question yourself before driving when you were drunk. I don’t mind telling you, though, 'cause you won’t be able to repeat it to anyone. I’m a killer. A paid killer. A mercenary. Killing you will be easy. For me, at least, but not for you.”  
“Please don’t do this!”  
“Do you know that I wasn’t even allowed to decide about my mate’s funeral arrangements? He still had his mum, sisters… And I wasn’t family. I had no say in the matter. They said… it was the next of kin’s prerogative. But for all intents and purposes, I was his next of kin! We’d been partnered for five years, lovers for three…”  
“Lovers? You mean you’re a poofter?” the man said in a panic-filled voice. Despite his obvious fear, he managed to inject such contempt in his tone that Bodie loosed a barking, mirthless laugh.  
“Yeah. A poofter. Who’s going to kill you. I just hope that makes it worse for you!”  
Coldly, Bodie shot the man in the left knee.  
He screamed and struggled in his bonds, but to no avail. Then he started whimpering and pleading incoherently.  
Bodie shot him in the other knee. There was another protracted scream before his victim lost consciousness altogether.  
Seeing this, Bodie suddenly felt his eagerness leave him. Yes, the murderer had to die. But maybe he’d suffered enough. Physically, and most of all, mentally.  
Quickly, he put a bullet through the bloke’s brains. His death was a total anticlimax, as though Bodie had crushed an ant. What a victory! Feeling empty and even more bereft - if that were possible - he left the warehouse, taking care to erase any signs that could lead back to him. Not that he cared for himself, but he owed it to Ray – and, yes, even to Cowley – to not be associated with this killing – this justice.  
Bodie had not thought much about what he would do afterwards. In fact, he’d been in limbo since the moment the medics had pronounced Ray dead. He’d only had one thought: to kill the murderous cretin responsible for his partner’s death. But he’d known, even then, that it wouldn’t solve a thing. Ray himself would have berated him for it.  
Mechanically, he returned to his car. He had parked quite a distance from the warehouse to avoid recognition. He opened the door, got inside, and sat staring into empty space for a long time. He did not cry; did not grieve. There was nothing left inside him, no emotions at all. Hurt had gone, just like love. It all seemed strangely distant now. Soon, he would move. He would go back to his empty flat and his empty life. He knew that he would not have to endure this for long. His job was hazardous enough, even without wanting to commit suicide. It was highly likely a bullet would find him, eventually. Sooner or later.  
He fervently wished it would be sooner.

The end

**Author's Note:**

> Today I passed before a memorial at a bus station near my place. Thirteen years ago, a drunk driver, who had borrowed a powerful car, was speeding in the bus lane, lost control of his vehicle and ran into the bus shelter, where he killed a young mother and her two daughters. Her boy, aged 18 months, was wounded but survived. The killer served a few years in jail but he’s now walking free…  
> This is why I wrote this story.


End file.
